Shadeborn: A Book of Underrealm Page 3

  “All of this I had already guessed.” Xain waved a hand in dismissal. “Any fool could have pieced it together.”

  “Then it was no great crime for me to wait so long,” said Loren, her irritation growing. “Tell me what you know and why it is of such great importance that we must meet out here where only grubs in the dirt may hear us. Who is master of the Shades?”

  Xain looked at Loren, his eyes black as they had been under the magestones’ power. It made her shiver, though she refused to flinch.

  Xain averted his gaze, picked at his sleeve, and spoke with no answer.

  “What do you know of magic?”

  “Not much.” Loren blinked. “Enough to know I wish to learn more. Of course, I heard tales as a child. And Jordel taught me some more when we were searching for you. I know of its four arms, which you call . . . oh, I cannot remember their scholarly names just now. But they are fire magic, mind magic, weremagic, and alchemy.”

  “Elementalism, Mentalism, Therianthropy, and Transmutation,” said Xain stiffly. “Yes, every child in the nine lands knows this. Wizards are few and far between, but rare is the man, woman, or child who goes a lifetime without seeing at least one. Yet we are all of us ignorant. For there are two other branches, hidden and never taught to children. For in them our fate lies buried, and a dark and terrible fate it is.”

  Loren felt as if her world had gone still. She struggled to hear even crickets.

  “What—” her voice cracked. She stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. “What are the hidden branches?”

  “Ceremancy and Necromancy. Life. And Death.”

  Loren frowned. “Those . . . those are not magic. They are . . . they are . . . they simply are.”

  “So I, too, thought. Yet in Wellmont a day with the Mystic taught me the truth. Life magic and death magic are the sources of every other branch. The essence of power itself. My power, that of every wizard, and the magestones. All are linked, forever entwined with the two hidden branches.”

  “But there are no life wizards and death wizards,” Loren said, irritated. “Surely, if there were, we would know. You were the first wizard I met, Xain, but I had heard tales aplenty before I knew them for what they were. I was told of four branches. Never six.”

  “By careful design. And you are wrong: there are life wizards and death wizards. Or rather, there is one of each. The Necromancer, lord of death. And the Ceremancer, though he is more often called the Lifemage.”

  “Only one? Why, when there are a great many of the other kinds?”

  “Because they are the source. They were the first, and from them sprang the other lesser powers. And though the first Necromancer and the first Lifemage died long, long ago, they were reborn. Ever again, they returned in later times and places, born to new bodies but always together, and with the same powers. Life and Death, returning to wage their great and endless war for the fate of all men.”

  “I have heard tales of great warriors, wizards, and kings. Thieves as well. Yet never have I heard of either a Lifemage, or a Necromancer.”

  “Many centuries has it been since they last lived in the nine lands. And in those in-between times, the Mystics hid all knowledge of them. Every record is expunged, every tale snuffed to nothing. They wish for no one to know of the Necromancer, for then followers might gather in strength and number for his coming.”

  “The Shades,” she said, understanding at last. “They serve the Necromancer. Do the Mystics, then, serve the Lifemage?”

  “That is their true purpose. But they have forgotten. All but the highest and greatest among them, who guard the secret as carefully as the Necromancer’s existence. To know of one is to know of the other.”

  They fell to silence, and for a while the only sound was a light wind rustling the grass all about them. Xain shivered and pulled his dirty cloak tighter about him. The weather struck him harder, thin as he was.

  “If the Shades are gathering in strength, does that mean the Necromancer is reborn?”

  “That is as Jordel guessed.”

  “And while they grow in power, the Mystics do nothing to stop them because they know nothing.” Words poured forth from Loren’s mouth. “Only Jordel discovered the truth, and he perished in the Greatrocks. Now I have made us sit and wait in a faraway city when we should have been warning the kingdoms.”

  Xain looked away. “You can hardly be blamed. We all keenly felt his loss.”

  “I should not have let that stop me. He would not have.” Loren brushed the fingers of one hand across the battered knuckles of the other. Almost she struck the ground again but did not wish to open the wound. “I am sorry, Xain. I should have listened.”

  The wizard grunted and moved to rise. “I will not argue. Only see that you remember this in the days to come.”

  Loren stood before lowering a hand to help him. “I will.”

  Xain glared sharply up at her; then the moonlight showed him her smile. A wry twist came to his lips, and he took her hand to rise.

  Together, they strode for Northwood, and the wizard flicked a finger to douse the embers behind them.

  four

  The next morning, everyone hastened to leave. They had all seemed happy enough to remain in Northwood, but once spurred to action Loren thought they seemed relieved to be back on the move. All of them, save Chet, had spent many weeks riding from one place to another. A welcome respite, but soon their feet were itching for road.

  While Albern fetched supplies from town, Loren and Chet went to the inn’s stable to ready their horses for travel. Midnight gave a great cry as she stepped into sight. Loren smiled to hear it. The horse was wise beyond the custom of beasts and must have known they were preparing to leave.

  “Still your braying, you nag.” She patted Midnight’s nose with affection. “I have kept you waiting but a few days.”

  “Look at the way she nuzzles you,” said Chet, eyeing Midnight with appreciation. Loren had told him of how she had come to steal the horse. “She has taken you for her own, and no mistake.”

  “I took her, you mean.” Loren fetched a brush from the wall and took to Midnight’s coat, though it appeared near flawless already. “I suspect she thinks different; I am her master and not the other way around.”

  Loren grew quiet, looking at Chet from the corner of her eyes. She had been meaning to ask him something for a while. Now despite her sudden urgency, she found the words not wanting to come.

  “Chet,” she said slowly, carefully. “What will you do? Once we leave, I mean.”

  His eyes widened briefly before narrowing tight. He pushed himself from the wall and rested a hand on Midnight’s flank. “Why . . . I mean to come with you, of course. Unless my company is not welcome, though I had hoped it would be.”

  Loren felt a flush of joy, though she tried to still it. Chet had heard much of their journeys but not all. He could not truly understand his decision, or imagine its implications.

  “Of course you are welcome. And nothing would make me happier than for you to join us. But I would not have you come out of obligation.”

  “Obligation did not make me leave the Birchwood. I wanted to follow you. How often did we wish to leave the forest when we were younger? How many lands did we see in our dreams, day upon day, longing only to walk their roads ourselves?”

  “Yet in all my daydreams, I never foresaw the peril that has plagued me since leaving. And though I would like nothing more than your company, I am loath to bring that peril upon you, with you unaware. Dark things hound us, Chet, darker even than I have known.”

  He paused, idly scratching Midnight’s side. “Things the wizard told you? Is that why you make ready to leave with such haste? Are you sure you can trust his words? Mayhap your fear is misplaced.”

  “’Tis not. If what lies ahead is half so terrible as what I have left behind, it will be a road more perilous than any you have traveled to get here. I will walk that road with you—but only if both your eyes are open.”

 
“They are,” he said, shrugging. “I can handle myself in a fight and have learned to ride a horse. What else would I do except take the road beside you, traveling as we always meant to?”

  “This is not some fanciful journey. You must not take the road if you think so.”

  “You have told me of the danger, Loren. That is enough. I still mean to come, unless you wish to lock me in these stables or tie me to the trunk of some tree.”

  Loren gave a lingering sigh. “Very well. We will take you into our company, and happily on my part. But know that if you ever wish to turn aside and go your own way, no one will think less of you. And you will need a horse, unless you wish to be tied across the back of Midnight’s saddle.”

  After readying the steeds, they went to see about a horse for Chet. They found Mag already busy in the inn’s common room, her well-muscled arms glistening with sweat as she bussed trays from tables to kitchen. She stopped when saw that they sought her attention and came to speak with them at the bar.

  “We need a horse for Chet,” said Loren. “Do you know where we might find one from an honest seller, who will not give us some beast with a cracked hoof?”

  “Why, beneath this roof,” said Mag. “Sten!”

  Her roar was sudden and sharp, as per her custom. It always made Loren jump. Her husband bustled out from the kitchen, wiping flour from his great arms with a greased rag, his bushy eyebrows drawn together and his wide mouth muttering darkly.

  “Sky above, Mag, how many times have I told you not to bray after me like some donkey?”

  “And how many times have I told you how I love my little ass?” said Mag, though she stood a full hand shorter. “See to the common room, will you? These two need a horse.”

  “The chestnut from that southern man?” said Sten.

  “The same. And one last thing.” Mag seized his collar and pulled him down for a quick kiss. But when she tried to pull away, Sten wrapped his arms around her and lifted Mag high enough to burrow his thick beard in her neck.

  Loren and Chet looked away, shifting on their feet. Mag squealed like a girl while giving him a chop to the ribs. Sten groaned and dropped her like an overfull sack.

  “The customers!” she snapped, unable to hide her smile. “I shall be but a minute.”

  Mag took them back to the stables. It held more than a dozen stalls. Most were full, four with the beasts Loren and her friends had brought. Near the back was a giant chestnut with a flowing golden mane. Loren had seen it once or twice as she came in and out.

  “Two southern men came through here some weeks ago, from Idris or some such, each of them riding a horse. They had to sell one to pay for the rest of their passage north. ’Tis a good enough beast—no warhorse, but no swaybacked farm animal, either.”

  “Why did you buy it?” said Chet. “Do you often go riding?”

  “Any innkeeper buys a horse what’s for sale,” said Mag. “A good bit of business, horseflesh. Often the folk who come through my doors need a steed for their journey.”

  “And we shall pay handsomely,” said Loren firmly.

  Mag pursed her lips. “Not handsomely, though I cannot give him for free. You know I will take no coin for your room and board, but a horse is another matter. Ten gold weights I paid. ’Tis what I will take from you and not one more. Just passing him on, so to speak.”

  “And if we were any other travelers, how much would we pay then?” Loren folded her arms.

  “That I shall keep to myself, if it is all the same to you.”

  “It is not. But so be it. Ten gold weights, as you say.”

  After grasping wrists to seal the pact, Mag returned to Sten in the common room while Loren went to their room upstairs. She took ten gold weights from her purse and placed them in a spare one. After a moment’s thought, she added an additional five. She did not know if it was a fair price—if anything, it seemed somewhat high. But the extra could pay for their food and rooms, for Mag had been too generous. It left them with less coin than she liked, but Loren would have to worry later. They had enough to reach Jordel’s brethren in Feldemar, and that was all that mattered.

  With Chet by her side, Loren returned to the common room where Mag stood speaking with a customer at the bar. She threw the spare coin purse to Mag, who scarcely looked up as she caught it with a deft hand. She did not stop speaking nor open the purse to look inside. Satisfied, Loren went to her corner table, where Albern, Xain, and the children were tucking in for lunch.

  “I have fetched as many provisions as the horses can carry,” said Albern as they sat. “It should see you at least halfway through Dorsea, though you will need to stop for more supplies at some point.”

  “We will stop as rarely as we can afford,” said Xain. “The fewer people who mark our passing, the better.”

  “Once deep into Dorsea, the danger shall lessen,” said Albern. “In the south, their kingdom is preoccupied with the war, and in the north they remain as untroubled as ever at the happenings across the nine lands.”

  “Who is that man there?” Gem asked.

  Something about the boy’s tone raised hairs on Loren’s neck. She looked over her shoulder to see Mag talking to someone new: a thin man with a hooked nose and spindly fingers, whose head darted about as he spoke. Something about him was altogether different from the simple folk she had grown accustomed to in Northwood, and it set her nerves on edge.

  They all continued to watch him until Mag looked up from the conversation and caught Albern’s eye. She nudged her head, and wordlessly he rose to approach her. Loren found her feet and followed, but when Chet, too, started to rise, she waved him back into his seat.

  Mag’s eyes were dark when they reached her. “Tell them, Len.”

  The thin man pinched his nose and sniffed. “There is a man wandering about Northwood, searching for a girl in a black cloak.”

  Loren’s blood went cold. Albern’s mouth set in a grim line. The thin man nodded, pinching his nose and sniffing again.

  “Aye, that is what I thought when I heard,” he said, though Loren was silent. “Black cloak and remarkable green eyes, he asked for. Used that word, remarkable. Calls himself Rogan, which sounds foreign to me. The man is dark as night, like that girl with you, and big. He carried no weapons but felt like one himself, if you follow. When I heard him asking about, I thought to myself that I seen eyes just like that, and a black cloak as well, here in your place, Mag.”

  “Our thanks, Len. Drink up, and tell Sten ’tis on the house.” He sidled off, and Mag fixed them with a hard look. “Is this Rogan a friend?”

  “I know that name not,” said Loren. “Mayhap the man is kin to Annis. Her family has long sought her. We should have already left.”

  “Stay your concern, at least for now,” Albern said. “We know nothing for certain. Mayhap it is as you fear, but mayhap this Rogan is a friend to Jordel.”

  “He said nothing of a redcloak,” said Loren.

  “Hist!” Albert looked over his shoulder. “Speak not so openly of our fallen friend’s order where others may hear. And if this Rogan is one of them, do you think he would show himself openly?”

  “We should go and see after him and mayhap find our answers,” said Loren.

  “I think the same.”

  “I shall come, too” said Mag. “Len is the good sort, but his nerves can get the better of him. I may recognize the man’s face where Len could not.”

  Loren ran to stow her black cloak upstairs and fetch her dirty brown spare. When she returned, Chet rose again.

  “No, stay. Albern and I must look into something. It will not take long, and too many at once draw attention.”

  “Is it some trouble?” said Xain sharply.

  “Mayhap, or nothing,” said Loren. “Rest assured, we will return in safety. Ready the horses just in case, and get the gear from our room.”

  Loren returned to the bar, where Albern was waiting. Sten was there as well, and through his beard Loren could see a frown.

 
; “Not long at all, and then we’ll return,” Mag was saying. “Trouble your ugly head not.”

  Sten said, “When have you ever given me cause for concern? I fear only for anyone who may think to tussle with you.” But the creases in his forehead deepened.

  Mag placed a hand on Sten’s arm, and then stood on tiptoe to plant her lips upon his cheek. “See to the customers. Get those layabout children to help, if you need them.”

  He let her go with but a long squeeze of her hand to see her off.

  five

  They set out into the streets, and though it was warm Loren raised her hood to mask her face, hoping its shadow would bury her eyes.

  Mag took them into the heart of the city. Northwood was no burg so great as Wellmont, or even Cabrus, the first place Loren had seen after leaving her forest home. Here there were hardly any buildings more than a single story. The city was wide rather than tall, sprawled across many acres of land with its streets twisting in upon each other. Yet with unerring certainty Mag wove her way through them until it was all Loren could do to keep up.

  “Len said he was last around here,” said Mag, looking around in the lazy afternoon sun. “Stay close to the walls, and find shadows to stand in if you may.”

  Loren needed no second urging and already found herself doing all she could to avoid being seen. Yet it seemed she need not have worried—despite the well-peopled streets not a single eye turned to her. But search as she might, Loren could see no sign of the man Len had described. They turned corner after corner, searching every alley they could find.

  “There,” hissed Albern at last, seizing Loren’s arm and drawing her against the wall of a smithy. She ducked quickly, and then waited a moment before peeking from under her hood.